The month of Karttika: lovers playing a game of dice Pahari, 18th century; Collection Horst Metzger

THE
last time that I met Horst Metzger in Zurich some years back, I had no
idea that he was suffering from an illness that eventually claimed his
life last year. He must have known it himself, of course, but he made no
concessions to the dread malady, judging from the enthusiastic manner
that he was still going about, looking at paintings, discussing matters
of fine detail about specific pictures. Indian paintings were his first,
perhaps his only, love in the area of art, and his passion for them
apparently kept him going. He had just acquired, at an auction in New
York, a beautiful Pahari painting showing a young couple – the man
dark like Krishna, and his beloved wearing that demure expression which
one associates with seductive nayikas – sitting on a terrace,
playing a game of dice. The scene was set in a dark night, with
candle-stands placed close to the carpet upon the terrace, and tall
poles at the side from which were suspended, balance-like, lamps that
burnt steadily. When one saw, in addition, the piles of coins lying next
to the players, suggesting their being engaged in gambling, one knew
that it was the month of Karttika, in which the festival of
Divali falls, that the painter had rendered. Dr. Metzger did not quite
know that the painting came from a Baramasa series, and it might
not even have mattered to him: what he had responded to, while buying
the painting, was its sheer aesthetic charm. It was, as I said, a truly
beautiful painting, but, at that moment, he was interested in knowing my
view on his thought that the work was possibly by Nainsukh, the
celebrated 18th century painter, on whom I had published a book a short
while earlier.

I remember the occasion well: we pored over his picture for quite a while,
silently, and I recall his looking at me intently as I sat, taking the details
in patiently, very carefully. Finally, when I looked up and gave him my
considered view that the work was in the style of Nainsukh – done by a member
of the family, very close to him – but not by Nainsukh himself, I sensed that
he was a little disappointed. But not quite put out. He was naturally interested
in my reasoning, and I shared all my thoughts with him. Then, after taking all
that in with a measure of good cheer, and thanking me warmly for my time, he
rose, saying simply and quietly: "But, some day, I know I shall have a
Nainsukh in my collection ...."

This was spoken like a true
collector. Horst Metzger was not in it professionally – he was a scientist who
occupied for long years a position high up in the echelons of a major chemical
concern in Germany – but from 1978 onwards, when he acquired his first Indian
work through a casual gift, he was ‘hooked’, so to speak. Collecting Indian
paintings became for him something of an obsession, and everyone in the field
knew that he would be there at every single auction, bidding, regardless of
whether it was in London, or New York, or Paris. He did not only look at, or
acquire, paintings: he pursued them. He would make notes, track down other
collectors who had paintings from the same sets or series from which some of his
own came, visit all the museums that he could. Steadily, very steadily, did his
collection grow, and with it grew his fondness for the works he owned. Rajput
paintings – Rajasthani and Pahari – in particular ‘spoke’ to him in a
manner that few other things did, it seems. He travelled extensively in India,
taking in the culture, establishing for himself the precise matrix of thought
and society from which these paintings had sprung. In the process, he formed
friendships, none stronger than that with the Maharao of Kota in Rajasthan, of
whose family he became virtually a member over the years. I saw him at the time
that the celebrated Kota exhibition opened in Zurich, and saw for myself the
warmth that obtained between him and the Maharao. It was touching in some
manner. Equally touching I found the fact that late, very late, in life – well
after he had retired from service – he enrolled himself at the University of
Heidelberg, next door to Ludwigshafen where he used to work, for learning Hindi.
He wanted to enter personally the rich world of poetry that had inspired the
works that he so dearly loved.

I have often wondered in my own
mind what thoughts course through the head of a collector like Dr. Metzger as he
contemplates his collection after it has acquired a certain profile, a status in
the eyes of his peers. Does the urge to collect remain as strong as the years go
by? Does it become sharper, or does it tend to diminish with time? Is there
always a competitive edge? How keen is the desire to share with others the
treasures that one owns, the joys and the sorrows of collecting? How often do
thoughts of what is going to happen to the collection after one has gone, come
sailing in the mind? It is difficult to tell. One thing is almost certain,
however. Collectors do wish their work to be exhibited at some point of time or
the other in their lives, become a part of other peoples’ awareness. As Dr.
Metzger did. when he agreed to have his collection put on show at the Linden
Museum in Stuttgart some years ago. There were long years of preparation, I am
sure; a richly illustrated catalogue was published; thousands of visitors came
to see the show. The Metzger collection had become a part of the domain of
scholarship.

Finding a home

But what was to happen to the collection –
there were close to 250 choice paintings in it by now – Dr. Metzger must have
spent considerable time and energy cogitating about in the last years of his
life. Finally, he decided to leave it not to his own family, but to the Museum
Rietberg in Zurich, as a bequest. The decision came as a surprise to many
perhaps, but he had his own reasons. This, in his eyes, was an institution with
a deep commitment to the arts of Asia, and he must have felt secure leaving the
paintings in the care of the senior director of the Museum, Dr. Eberhard
Fischer, with whom he had established a close rapport over the last few years.
In Dr. Metzger’s mind, his collection had found a home; on its part, the
Museum received the bequest with respect and gratitude.